Tag Archives: Lesbian

Carving Board

I am not

your carving board

I. am. not. your carving board!

I am not the place to hold your

hatred when it’s dull edge

needs to feel souls bleed!

no

I am not your carving board!

I am not

your punching bag

I. am. not. your punching bag!

I am not skin holding your

worthlessness when i’s frayed image

needs to feel like it has knuckled teeth

no

I am NOT your punching bag!

I am not

your garbage bin

I. am. not. your GARBAGE BIN!

I am not the bone structure waiting

for the deragatory spit you spew

when language has your fill

no

I am NOT your garbage bin

I am not your sale

I am not your deal

I am not your break up

slide down

lay back and un-feel

while you thrill

I am not your undo

your untrue

your reason to forget

I am not your sin

your stick up fed up

get luck – y dirty

clothes pin

holding up the laundry

you refues to hang out

to dry

neither am I your

false pride

I am not your shadow lying

your peeping eye prying

your dogma flaunting

hatred signing

standing on the corner

mocking mourners

I am not your breaking

nor your entering

nor your black and blue

swinging

no.  nO. NO!

I AM courage

though you strike me

I AM bravery

though you cut

I AM authentic

though you disparage

I AM me

though you think I’m not

.

.

.

so no

I am not your cutting board

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Girl in Pink

((only slightly scandalous… it’s a limerick for pete’s sake! lol))

A girl in a pink dress went out walking

The men all stood close plainly gawking

a whistle or two

“Don’t you know what I do?”

and the girls on the street started blushing

What if

… the world was a word
and the word was on your lips
would it taste of sweet cantaloupe
or persimmon’s emerald kiss?
Would it laugh at languishing in reds
and paint the world in crims’n
or prone to lavish simplicities
of diamond coated sins?
Would it be a lamprophony
of canter calling crows
or be silent as the barren wood
to slip where silence dare not go?
What if, my love, the world were I
and I of lashing dreams?
would I sate your soul
o’er lip, and tongue and cheek
to disolve in utter bliss
thine appentency.

Who is Wesley?

Part 2 to Wesley’s Words

The face was circled
to near perfection
in faded red
on black and white
with the words
‘what is a life’
written pain
stak
ing
ly
small along the white
edge
neither mingling
meandering nor merging
with the photo paper’s
story
but filling Mason’s head
driving his hands
veined with hours
of plays, throws
and connections
to waver over glass
trace the words
to perfection
and wonder
what is a life…
…what is a life?

The circled
young boy
stared out from
hundreds
other faces
eyes seeing places
and dreams of
the future
so obvious
was the obliviousness
of this
young man
as if his dreams
were so far out
there was no
light
no future
reflecting back.
then the words
what is a life…
…what is a life?
came slamming back

Coach was old
his words made no sense
nonsense
figure it out
figure what out?!
why, how
when?
This is ridiculous!
Mason didn’t need
this…

What is a life?

The picture hastily
shoved to precariously
to haphazardly
tossed to the
edge
to the edge…
crashing smashing
tumbling down
from the bedside
to the ground
in pieces
frame and bits
lay more than just
a photo graph
a softer edge
lay unearthed
from tomb of wood
and glass.

LOCAL BOY
DEAD.
Five teens where
questioned in the
death of a local boy
this evening.
A call tipped off police
to patrol the area
off of 5th and Grand.
A scream
A scuffle
A muffled
brawl? perhaps.
The line went dead.
the operator said
The line went dead.
The five men
remain in custody.
Names withheld
due to the sensi-
tivity
of crime
and time
but sources suspect…
a sixth.

Mason skipped the rest.
Local boy, dead.
his age
ripped from a page
of yesterday
lived on the other
side of tracks
with
a nobody no letter no jacket
no money no future
no life
no life cuz
he’s dead.
Found with a pink barrette
clutched in his hand
and F@66%7
scrawled on his back
in indelible ink
to obviously sink more meaning
as his attackers
tattooed their
judgement into
his black and
blue
skin.

what is a life?

An article 30 days later
stapled
and worn
confirmed a sinking
suspicion
The 5 were part of the
Local High 6.
but no proof
no
ev-i-dence
no recollection
or defection
of witnesses
no sense of right
or wrong
no candle light vigil
no memento or
mournful sigil to mark
the young life passing
by.
Even this passage
was relegated in
subterranean
cache
just above the lottery
numbers
page 8
where this hate
ful incident
and
obstruction of
a justice-less life
for
Wesley
was left
to be forgotten
as if it would be
forgotten
and
it was…
save by one.

and
Mason kept on
tracing the words
in his head

What is a life?
What is a life… 
worth.

911 TRANSCRIPT – May 7th, 1969
Police Operator 2472
What’s your emergency?

{{Whispers}}

5th and Grand
a scuffle, fight, a boy down.

What is the location?

5th and GRAND!

{{typing}}

5th and G.R.A.N.D?

YES!

{{TYPING}}

What’s your name?

My name? I.. um… Mar…
Damnit man
You have to send
someone?
like now!

{{typing}}

Can I have you name son?

{{more typing}}

Sir,  Let me get your …
Sir are you there?……………
sir…….
hello?……

Kissing Danielle

She keeps to herself

the days linger over

each other in series

of rises and sets

of studies and tests

she is never

really sure if she

is giving her best

and while ‘friends’ gather

near lockers and rooms

she looms

in the background

while she

smiles in the forground

watching

the other pass by

the worn out clothes

slothing shoes

revolving door ways

made for breaking

black and blues

and knows

if they ever

found out

if

ever found

out

She would be

hurrled into a

world of shattering words

shattering bones

shattering this visage

so carefully wrought

thought and messaged

even she wasn’t sure

it wasn’t the truth

it wasn’t the

truth

truth is

every day she sees her

softly walking

talking and meandering

through the blurs of

faces her face is clear

and when she gets near

the

summer sun finds

no shadow

sound finds no

rafters to

beat from

it’s as if the entire

world has fastforwarded

into a slow down

and the camera

is souly devoted

to a downward spiral

until the only image

is her brown eyes

and

then

she

sees

……. for a heart beat

crap! did everyone see?

did everyone know?

they say it gets better

but she is no so sure

because all she wants

to do is scream

I AM NOT WHO I

PRETEND TO BE!

No

she wants

to linger in the follow

of her hearts content

play with a force

of first loves commitment

stand on the precipice of

prom in two dresses

hold hands in the court

of dramaless masses

and be free from

this resereved

stagnated and barely controled

lung forward and speak out

compel

and just not be

afraid

of kissing Danielle

but

if they knew

if they

knew

like brown eyes

did

everything would

be over.

so she

keeps to herself

the days linger over

each other in series

of rises and sets

of studies and tests

she is never

really sure if she

is giving her best

and while ‘friends’ gather

near lockers and rooms

she looms

in the background

while she

smiles in the forground

watching

the other pass by

watching

the other

pass

by.

Charlie’s smile

He mumbles

when he talks

the

wound of his voice

barely reaches the floor

as he searches for

escapes out

on his way down the hall

in too high jeans

and a belt

anchoring him to self

so he doesn’t slip

out of

place.

His hands grip books

covers and shields

deflecting the

pushes, punches

and wielded words

sharper than edges

of the door way

he often finds

himself greeting

every Monday

and Wednesday

at 8:05.

He is brilliant

in his mental

meanderings

of geometry

calculus

and science

his

mind sees puzzles like

diamonds to be

polished

clear and bright

as the bruises he

hides from the

inevitable trip

to the bathroom

trip

to the bathroom

trip in the bathroom

he just tripped

and

he doesn’t complain

he keeps up appearances

as the soles of his feet

keep account of

the days till

he can stand

straighter

be handsome…er

be

important

because

his mother says

he will be

and right now he

still believes her

even as the waves

of every suck the wind

you don’t get in today

you must be gay

because no girl

would want you

lingers at the gate

of his educational

hell

the bell

is

ringing

in his ears on the way

home and if

he walks a little faster

if he

catches the right

canter, carry and case

the Thursday Crew

won’t give chase

the

Thursday crew won’t

chase

wont

chase…

He just tripped in

the bathroom…

And His eyes are blue

like the ocean

in berm-u-da

so

his mother says

as she asks

him each morning

to keep his

head up

and smile,

the world will smile

back

but…

she doesn’t

know…

today is Monday.

It’s Monday…

and

He”ll just trip

in the bathroom.

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I want to shed a poetic light on abuse, in-equality, and bullying.  It is one thing I can do in my every day life to help make a difference.  You can too, by sharing a piece here that speaks to you to someone that may need to hear it.  Or if nothing else, visit one of the organizations I support like Over My Shoulder FoundationThe L-ProjectDiversity Role Models, Trevor Project, and Give a Damn Campaign.

Reach out today and make a difference in the life of someone who can’t. You will find the weight of love, the burden of friendship, and the plight of forgiveness is more joyful than the lightness of forget, the sweetness of popular, or the treasure of perfection.

The Life of Bea

She walks with shuffle

cuffle and flop

in worn out shoes

and worn out tops

her hands are small

pale porcelin envy

eyes of dew drop gray

dream of anything

but life today

She lingers in the back

most hours

clinging to shade

and inconsequential hue

praying to gods

spit, spite, and throttle

forget she exists

as she dreams of anything

but this

Her hair is neat

her glasses new

ish, through which the

world is viewed

in shades of black

purple and blue

her ears are revolving doors

of not good enough

four eyes and hell-bound troll

stupid fucker and

filthy mole who should

NEVER have been born

but

…. there are days

when hands reach out

when voices confront

shove, bite, and anguish

and words of

it will be ok, you are loved

come out to play

be with me and

you ARE beautiful…

when you smile,

whisper on her behalf.

In those moments

she is alive

and reminded

hope exists somedays

though most days

she dreams life is

not today

this is the life of Bea.

this is the life of bea

this is the life of

…..

To my younger self

You are

exactly who you should be

not an ounce grown

in the wrong

direction.

The seed of your

talents

grow beautifuly

unique

not a smidge

out of line or

question.

Your character is

witfully designed

trustfully divine

not a sinuew of

soul is placed

in the trash bin

or going

to hell because

love is not a sin

you’re not ugly

or unlikable

unworthy or

un-anything,

don’t listen to them

their snide remarks

their better than’s

because in the end

you turn out just fine

you

live a life

they said you would

not dare

do

so

when they cast your

lots beneath the stands

while you step up

soloed from the band

when they laugh at

clothes handed down

or the silver shining

in that smile

when they poke

prod and manipulate

throw, hit, and

simply hate

you

don’t you look in the mirror

and do

the same thing

because

You are

exactly who you should be

not an ounce grown

in the

wrong direction.

Silence

Silence is deaf’ning
the space left is awareness
we become human